


Our Spears Against The World

by wyrvel



Series: Foulkhai Brainworms [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Au Ra Xaela (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, Lancer Questline (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22519084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrvel/pseuds/wyrvel
Summary: Khaishan has lost his patience with Foulques' games, but is not so cruel as to leave a man to die.(Lancer Level 30 quest canon divergence)
Relationships: Foulques & Original Male Character
Series: Foulkhai Brainworms [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632967
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Our Spears Against The World

**Author's Note:**

> We love an emotional unsupport elf
> 
> While I still love Foulques and don't think he deserves his weak ending, I was thinking my actual lancer WoL, Khaishan, would be pretty pissed off with him by the time he heard his tirade. He was plenty mad with him for all the other shit he did too.
> 
> [Khaishan profile for full context here,](https://sidequestdisorder.carrd.co/#two) but long story short he was the family caretaker and takes that energy with him at all times.  
> (He and Foulques are the same height, give or take an inch. Apologies to height difference loving au ra stans but elezens are beanpoles)

Khaishan was not aware Foulques had any sort of flair or finesse until he saw him fight without it.

He is given no opportunity to speak; there could have been a speech, perhaps, or a single line that betrayed enough empathy that a conversation could be had. Neither is possible when a spear is thrust in Khaishan's face, meant to kill, not startle.

Foulques is frenzied, growling with each swipe or thrust. He expects Khaishan's tendency to moving around, and is almost constantly turning on his heel, but his own steps are stumbling and thoughtless, if he can bear to move at all.

When Khaishan was rather unkindly forced to fight swarms of enemies, he had to pay more attention to his footwork than ever before; taking hits wasn't possible in such a large group. Khaishan presumed that was why he was blinded for his most inane trial; to have him pay attention to some other aspect. But his ears strained even then to keep just enough space to avoid teeth. Each scuffle of pawprints was the only hint he was about to gain a row of new holes in his body. It was imply listening for what he usually looked for; a way to get out of the fight with minimal injury.

 _What courage is this_ , Khaishan thinks bitterly, now watching Foulques' stiff form. _'I fear nothing'? Do you even see yourself?_

The senseless dead in metal armour only force Khaishan to weave even more. He has no idea where they came from; they seemed like Calamity ashkin, based on their dress, but they could just as easily be fallen adventurers. Must he add necromancy to Foulques' many reckless endeavors?

"You think me without honor?" Foulques grinds, as Khaishan shoves a spear through a corpse and attempts to fling it at him. "To hell with your honor!"

"I do not speak of honor!" Khaishan spits back, the first thing he's manage to say since he arrived. "Certainly, if you let me have my piece, I will have much to say of your stupidity!"

It was an impulsive thing to say, and helps nothing. Foulques prevents Khaishan from approaching with a wave of frigid aether, and holds his spear up again with his teeth bared.

Khaishan does not attack. It takes far too long for Foulques to realize that he must initiate himself for the fight to resume, and that delay leaves him even more unsteady. He is losing heat, losing confidence, and though the rage burns bright in his eyes, each attack is slowed by a flash of hesitation, as if wary the next move will have him disarmed. It is enough to give Khaishan the upper hand, to push him back. Further, further, until Foulques' swipes gain speed and sacrifice accuracy. Like a cornered animal.

"You think to cut your teeth on me?" Khaishan continues with venom he had long considered himself incapable of. "What do you hope to gain from my defeat?"

Foulques pushes him away, farther off, but he doesn't try to close the distance again. "No other lancers are worthy-"

"No other lancers have time for you, surely, enough for you to know of their mettle! You challenge fledgelings in the safety of a city, yet keep your distance from those who have proven themselves already! How many tried and true soldiers have you crossed spears with? Surely there must be countless men more learned than I? Would you even once challenge the likes of even Buscarron?"

 _"YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING!"_ Foulques screams.

"Oh how much I understand, now! What a wonderful fantasy you must have had, to come whisk brave new lancers away from the guild which spurned you, and show the truth to your mettle in your 'students'. I could hardly believe someone could be so witless as to beg the company of a man he blinded in battle! What sort of person did you expect to find? I have since traveled far across Eorzea, but found no fool stewed so deeply in his own delusions!"

Foulques buckles then, so completely that Khaishan feels awful for speaking at all. His entire posture is in pieces, and attempts to adjust himself are weak and staggering. When Khaishan takes a step to approach, Foulques swings with his whole body, throwing his balance enormously.

"I don't need- I only strive to prove myself...that the guild is unnecessary to learn true courage!" His voice is hoarse and cracking.

"Did you know they teach courage the same as you at the guild?" Khaishan snaps.

Foulques' heat leaves him. His spear tip rests upon the ground, sapped of energy, and his eyes are wide and begging. "What?"

"To learn courage by overcoming a fearsome battle. I was taught it twice over. Is it so strange that they merely wish to wait until the spear fits more naturally into their student's hands?"

"Such a soft guild could never-"

"What would you know, when you'd been cast out from their ranks?" A haunting understanding, unblemished by Khaishan's existing scorn, bubbles up from within him. He leans on his legs to catch his breath. It would be an amply opportunity to strike, but Foulques merely watches him, looking lost.

It was a difficult sight, but after some thought, he decides to first address more pressing matters. He gestured to the slain Wood Wailers. "This is a new development, is it not?"

A bit of Foulques' heat returns. "They were called on me."

"When has any of your baffling escapades ended in dead men? You're lucky the trainees didn't die at your little plot as well. Some came close. I suppose you think they deserve it, do you?" Khaishan huffs. "You act as though you've reached your zenith. A strange way to behave on a vengeance quest unless it's reached completion."

Foulques stares bitterly at the corpses.

Khaishan puts away his spear and approaches, expecting their fight to be only a battle of words, now. Foulques almost seems like he's ready to have that conversation, up until his grip on his spear tightens and its driven directly at Khaishan's head.

This exact circumstance - being unarmed and attacked by someone unexpectedly - has been drilled into him by his brother longer than any sort of lancer training. Khaishan grabs the base with one hand while the other sweeps underneath to slide underneath Foulques' palm, freeing the spear from his grip, making it easy to pry it away and swipe Foulques' legs out from underneath him. Foulques lands heavy and stunned, and Khaishan spins the spear and points it at his throat.

Foulques' face crumples. His breath runs ragged and shuddering, catching as the cold steal brushes against his skin, and when it's held there, he squeezes his damp eyes tight. It is rare for Khaishan to have someone in this position, and it makes his stomach roil to see such naked fear. Some foolish and sheltered part of him wants to drop the spear and comfort the man, like he would cling to his brother after their mother only barely chased away the latest violent stranger. The idea he could strip someone so bare, vulnerable to the point of helplessness, made him nauseous.

He cannot possibly speak harshly to someone he has laid out like this. He only lets the spear rest against the the bone plate of Foulques' armour. "Are you so frightened of me? Am I truly something to be feared?"

Foulques stiffens. He tries to glare through his tears, holds up a hand to grab at the spear, but simply placing the blade back on skin is enough to ward him off it. His hand trembles in the air.

"You beseech my company so insistently, yet will give me no quarter in which I might give you my hand in return," Khaishan croaks. "Do you really think me so blind as to believe you would find fair trial for your crimes under the Shroud? Do you think me so callous that I wouldn't be moved by your story? Not once have you spoken of betrayal before. Do you think I would say you deserved such a thing, should you allow me to speak on it?"

His voice cracks, and the spearhead slides all the way down, once again resting against dirt. Foulques' breaths are short and tense huffs, and his eyes remain squeezed tight, but sobs are shaking through him, breaking through what little pride the man had left. Khaishan knows no response to tears other than to embrace; what is there left to do? What comforting words could he give? Almost everything he has to say would only hurt Foulques' pride.

He licks his lips. They're dry and cracked. "You can't stay here. To Coerthas or Mor Dhona, or on the strait to Vylbrand, I care not, but if you intend to live, it cannot be here."

Foulques fixes his jaw and opens his eyes as if it takes all his energy to do so. "So you will chase me off, never to darken your door."

"Such extremes you must think in, that I would either consign you to death or support you in all that you do!" Khaishan blinks back his own tears and pulls the spear from its owner's neck. Foulques finally breathes in one, long gasp of air, finally enough to fill his lungs. Khaishan helps him to his feet, using as little body contact as possible, but doesn't give him back his weapon. "I plan on escorting you. Letting you go will be naught but an empty gesture if I can't be sure it came to anything."

"So who shall be my judge outside the Twelveswood?" Foulques coughs.

"It will have to be your own conscience, for the time being." Khaishan pulls a cowl from his bag, a hand-me-down he received for better focusing during his conjuring trials. Foulques does not resist when it's pulled over his head. He only flinches when Khaishan reaches around his neck to comb his hair down; he remembers how the cowl would tug at his own, and knows it would be even more uncomfortable for someone with their hair styled free.

"What plan do you have for this daring escape?" It's said with contempt and disbelief.

Khaishan gives him the ceremonial mask, the only face-concealing item he owns, which makes Foulques go slightly green. "I will tell the guild you toppled from the cliff in battle, and return to you with a rented chocobo. We can keep north to Coerthas, but I've never been to the area, and it will be difficult to navigate. It will take a few days to head south, but I have many sanctuaries in Thanalan, and I know the territory well. if there is a ship that takes the strait to Vylbrand, I don't know it, and must defer to you."

"How worldly you are," Foulques says without heat.

"Stay out of sight." Khaishan guides him to the side, out of eyeshot from anyone who might stumble upon the bodies. "I will return shortly."

"My spear-"

"If you're so confident in your mighty bravery, try to have the courage to be unarmed and in hiding for only an hour."

The aether catches on his body, and he falls away into it as Foulques retreats into the shadows.

Khaishan highly doubts Foulques will be standing there when he returns, but as he's pulled back to Gridania, he hopes he will, if only to have the opportunity to finally see level with him. As detestable as he finds them, he's aware that much of his outrageous demands were made seeking companionship.

 _How lonely it is to be us,_ Khaishan thinks. _Us who hold spears against the world_.

He decides he will bring Foulques something hot to eat, just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my twitter @garden_metal to see me unabashedly go full FoulKhai brainworms. sorry that im a gamer now


End file.
